Delicious Yay! is crack
by Scrawlding
Summary: Laurie steps out to do some grocery shopping. Jon has some time alone. NC-17. Dubcon-foodplay/autoeroticism/language/angst/Crack-fic . NSFW I don't own anything about this story. I borrowed the characters and fed them crack. Sorry in advance.


The time? It's four o'clock in the morning. Yes, Laurie is asleep in the other room. She has been very tired lately. And very secretive. I see you're looking concerned, don't be. I know she is engaging in intercourse with Dan. And I place no blame on her for seeking him out.

I am still human enough to understand these needs. I can no longer fulfill the physical desires of Laurie. She needs a more emotional connection. I am finding this difficult. She tends to find importance in the most inane aspects of life.

Like television. We watch The Facts of Life together every night. She insists that Blaire is her favorite. But it is quite obvious that Natalie will lead the most successful life out all these young ladies. Blaire and Tootie will probably end up married or working at occupations demeaning to their intellect because they are prone to romantic idealism that will lead them to settling for less.

Jo. She will die face down in a gutter. Trouble-making harlot that she is.

See, Laurie makes no sense to me anymore. If it isn't television, it is other things. Little things. Like, well… I'm not sure I should tell you this.

I have a thing for food. Particularly baked goods. No, no. My body no longer requires sustenance to continue to function. But, with Laurie gone all the time, copulating with the Nightowl, and what not… well, I get lonely.

And although this body no longer requires anything, it still craves certain things. Tactile things; particularly in regards to the act of autoeroticism. I often find it relaxing at the end of a day of working to find a self-renewing energy source, to manipulate my genitals and various erogenous zones until I achieve an adequate climax.

This is understandable, is it not? I have read several case studies on the topic of human sexuality and masturbation is considered quite normal and even a healthy practice. But what Laurie does not seem to understand is why I tend to utilize baked goods in my sexual practices. She has walked in on me thrusting into a warm peach pie. Or rubbing a lemon poppy seed muffin along my perineum. She always acts shocked. Disgusted even.

I find this hypocritical on her part. She spends her nights curled up with a man who dresses like a fluffy winged nocturnal bird of prey. Plus, she thinks that Blaire will amount to something one day. Silly woman.

And she grudges me for molesting a chocolate cake from time to time?

I'm sorry, I was shouting wasn't I? I'll try to keep my temper. You are interested in the chocolate cake aren't you? Yes, she was a beautiful thing. I knew I wanted her the moment I first laid eyes on her. So moist, so warm. Rich butter-cream fondant in all the right places. Lacy icing piped along her voluptuous curves. She was like Venus emerging from the sea as Laurie piped out

H-A-P-P-Y B-I-R-T-H-D-A-Y R-O-R-S-C-H-A-C-H

In light print block lettering. The icing globbed a little on the H. I felt myself hardening.

I panicked. I did not want Laurie seeing my erection. What would she think of me? Becoming aroused by birthday cake. It's absurd. But my bigger fear was, what if she wants sex? I give it to her so rarely these days, me so busy with my work, and her so busy with Dan's bird cock. But I didn't want to release my seed for her. Not when that stunning confection waited in the other room. Whispering her siren song in my ear. As sweet and sugary as her icing.

But thinking of her icing only caused me to grow. I tried to think of unsexy things: the stock market, Ozymandias' hair, the end of the world… but my mind kept wandering back to that chocolate Lolita. I had to taste her.

And right as I was about to go mad with desire, Laurie called out from the kitchen.

"Jon, I'm running to the store for a bit. I guess I forgot the candles. Can you think of anything we're out of aside from orange juice?"

I strummed myself and tried to hold the conversation. "No. I think that's it."

"Well, I'm off then."

"Okay," I answered weakly. My blue testicles beginning to ache with desire.

I waited for the door to close. Her high heels clicking the ground as she walked away. Growing fainter and fainter with each step.

I raced to the kitchen. There she was. The piped icing had a come-hither look to it. And although the cake read, "Happy Birthday Rorschach" it might as well have read, "I want you inside me Dr. Manhattan".

I ran my hand along the edge of her plate. Teasingly. When she made no response, I moved my hand upward, flicking an icing rose. Smearing on my finger, moistening it. I dug my finger in between the soft petals, reshaping them into a gooey little cavern. A channel to be plumbed.

I took my time, she was a gentle creature after all. My hands roved the sides of her sweet curves. Massaging them, caressing. My fingers ran across the face, mottling the letters. Until the "Happy Birthday" was almost unreadable. I was making this little cake mine. Rorschach would have to find someone else to be his oven baked bitch. This one was definitely mine.

I threw caution to the wind and pushed my hardness against the side. Allowing her to get used the size. And slowly, inch by inch, I burrowed myself inside her. Carving and filling as I moved through her softness.

And it was heaven. Her rich chocolate interior felt like velvet. Stroking and milking my length as I drove deeper and deeper inside until I was completely sheathed. My testicles making two round indentations in the icing.

I began to long dick her. Withdrawing until just the head remained inside, and then I would slowly slide back in. It felt like the first time I took Joanie. The slow pace made her crazy for it and she began bucking against me wildly, like a cat in heat. This beautiful cake, however, she let me take her at my own pace. She didn't mutter a word the whole time. Not even when I began to pick up pace, thrusting deeper and faster than ever before. She sat there, quiet as an angel.

I was thrusting right on threw her now. Quickly. Forcefully. My breathing was ragged and came in rough grunts. Guttural moans. I was close to coming. I could feel it building. This cake felt so good.

But then it stopped. I opened my eyes and looked down at the plate I was holding. My delicious cake had completely collapsed. I could find no trace of the once lovely baked good that had been there ten minutes ago. All that remained was a little fondant here, a little bit of her rich interior there.

But I had no time to mourn this wasted beauty. I was still in the moment of passion. But there was not enough of her left to rut. But I had to finish. Somehow.

I scooped up and handful of her and rubbed her across my torso. She was soft on my chest. I tweaked a nipple and felt her on my fingers, a slick layer coating my nips. I rubbed a handful of her against my ass cheeks. Running my finger along the crevice and poking her into my hole. She felt good inside me squashed and slippery inside my rectum. I slid my finger in again, and again. Sliding my finger across the prostate. I almost came with the excruciating pleasure.

I wanted to finish quickly. Using the last handful of chocolaty goo, I lubed my shaft with cake and pumped furiously up and down, up and down. While my other hand poked and prodded my special spot to shattering climax.

Four long jets of pungent white spunk fired from my length and spattered the handful of cake. Soaking into the chocolate. I milked myself, squeezing the last few drops of cum out. Physically spent from the pleasure, I slid down to the tile on kitchen floor. Basking in the tiredness and weakness of sex. My breathing slowed. I closed my eyes. But what was that sound?

I could hear her approaching. The tap of shoes twenty-five, maybe thirty feet from the door. I had to get rid of this cake, hide the evidence. But there was no time.

In a panic, I stuffed the cum-soaked cake into my mouth. Chewed furiously and swallowed. It tasted perfect. Just like I thought it would. The sweetness of her battered body, the saltiness of my ejaculate, fusing together. Rolling around my tongue. But I had no time to relish it, for just as I licked both of our icings from my fingertips, the door opened.

Laurie dropped her shopping bag. Apples rolled noisily across the tiled floor.

"J-J –Jon?" she stammered. What's going on?" She spied the mess on the floor, the table. Cake spattered on my chest and loins. Trying to find her voice, she said. "Did you fuck my cake?"

"No." I lied.

"You did. Didn't you? You fucked my cake! You FUCKED my cake!"

"No, I-"

"You FUCKED MY CAKE!" She was furious. A smallish vein throbbed dangerously in her temple. "What do you have to say for yourself Jon? Huh? What do you have to say for all of this?"

I cleared my throat, "Like you never tried it!"

Her face whitened. "Jon. It was one time. I was in college. I was drunk. And cupcakes… I thought we agreed not to talk about this."

"I'm just saying, Laurie, I wouldn't start pointing fingers. You're not exactly a pastry virgin yourself."

"Just, just… clean up your mess. Dinner is in half an hour."

Yep. That's the story of the best cake I ever ate. Oh, and sorry Rorschach. I'll get Laurie to make you another one. And, uh, Happy Birthday.


End file.
